Ravens and Crows complete
by XFDryad
Summary: Bill sticks his oar in, not without just cause.


Disclaimer: Alas, alack, they are not mine. Yadda, yadda, yadda.

**Title**: Ravens and Crows  
**Author**: Dryad  
**Rating**: PG13, MS/UST, M for Melancholy  
**Spoilers**: 'A Christmas Carol', 'Emily', 'Demons', 'Wetwired'  
**Archive**: Yes please. A note where would be nice.  
**Note**: This is the prequel to_ The Witness_, though you don't have to read it first.

_ 'Some say Hephaestus attempted to rape Athena, the virgin Goddess._  
_They say he dropped his seed along her leg as she escaped, whereupon she wiped it off and threw it on the ground. From the seed which fell, Erichthonius was created. But Creusa, granddaughter of Erichthonius, told her son Ion, when he asked if Athena took Erichthonius up from the earth, she said, "Into her virgin hands she was not his mother."'_

___'Unknown to the other Gods, Athena hid the child in a chest, which she then gave to the daughters of King Cecrops to guard. But the girls opened the chest, and a crow gave the secret away, and the sisters, driven mad by Athena, threw themselves into the sea.'_

**Hugin** - raven of thought, bringing news to Odin  
**Badb** - member of The Morrigan, water God of Knowledge

**~1~**

Maggie hummed tunelessly as she basted the turkey one last time, leaving the large fowl unfoiled in order to brown before pushing it back into the oven.

Ah, this was the life. She was happy, mostly. It was Thanksgiving and everyone was home, Charlie excepted. Of course it hurt, not having seen her youngest baby for years, but it was his choice. She couldn't force him to do something he wasn't willing to do. '"Above all, patience"' had been her mother's sage advice at Bill's birth. God knew she'd tried.

After filling a bowl with cold water, she opened the bag of cranberries and poured them in. A few floated to the top, and she picked them out, wrinkling her nose in disgust at their semi-rotted state. She drained the rest, peeled two oranges and removed as much of the bitter white membrane as she could before roughly chopping them. Into the food processor along with the cranberries, a brief blitz to reach the right consistency, and then promptly into an unglazed black bowl Bill had sent from Japan. In went a pinch of salt and barely enough sugar to lessen the acidity of the cranberries and the relish was done. She popped it into the fridge, sighed and added a little cream to her now lukewarm coffee.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Bill asked, grabbing a beer from the cooler. He popped the top and leaned against the counter.

"Hmm? Oh," Maggie shook her head. "just thinking about nothing. How's Matty doing?"

"He's trying to convince me that he can play Army men, color,and watch cartoons without disturbing Auntie Dana."

"Is she still asleep on the couch?"

He nodded. "I told her half an hour ago to go upstairs if she wanted to nap, but you know what she's like."

"As stubborn as you," Tara called, rattling around in the pantry.

Maggie hid a smile behind her cup. Dana and Bill had far more in common than either of them realized, yet neither one understood the other. Par for the course, she supposed. "Leave your sister alone, she made an effort to be here."

"Effort, shmeffort," Bill said with a snort. He sipped his beer. "I'm sure she had an excuse not to come all ready. I mean, come on, Mom, you had to pick her up from the airport."

"She came directly from a case, Bill. She didn t even have a chance to wash her face or bring her bags upstairs before Matty dragged her into the living room. What else do you want from her,  
blood? She's exhausted," Maggie said, catching Tara's embarrassed, apologetic glance when she closed the pantry door. "And she's had a hard few months."

"So?" Bill shrugged. "When hasn't she? What gives her the right to miss birthdays and holidays? Jesus, she wasn't even there when Missy died! She's more loyal to that partner of hers than she is to any of us. She had cancer, for God's sake, and did she tell you herself? No - "

Maggie held up one hand in an attempt to halt the tirade. "Bill, now is _not_ the time. Fox will be showing up any moment, and I don't want dinner to descend into bickering and infighting."

"And why do you always defend her? Why do you defend him?"

Tara laid one hand on Bill's forearm. "Hon, I think your Mom's right."

"Why not?" He jerked his arm away. "Why isn't this the time? We're all family, we've got nothing to hide, unlike her, unlike that ass."

Oh God, she didn't want to do this today. While she didn't understand the ins and outs of her daughter's life, she had come to realize that it was Dana's strength of character, her integrity and tenacious search for justice, which kept her with the FBI. As for her relationship with Fox, well, some things mothers weren't meant to know. She didn't want to know. As long as her soul was still saved,  
what Dana did with her life was her business. "Look, can't we just have a nice meal and leave all of this nonsense? It's her life, she can do with it what she will."

"Damn it, Mom, can't you see what she's doing to herself? And to us?"

Maggie had no answer for him. There was always a price to be paid, no matter who you were. She turned towards the coffee pot to freshen her cup and noticed Matty standing wide-eyed in the doorway.  
He clutched his green blankie to his chest with one hand, thumb firmly stuck in his mouth, something he hadn't done since he was two. He looked very solemn. "Matty? Sweetie?"

Bill stepped forward and crouched in front of his child. "What's wrong, son?"

Matty unplugged and said, "Auntie Dana's mad at me."

"She is?"

"Uh hunh. She yelled," he tucked his chin further into his blankie. "and got her gun out."

Maggie forgot to breathe. It couldn't be true. He had to be lying. Dana simply wouldn't do that. After a second she gasped out, "He probably got confused watching the cartoons."

"Matty," Bill very calmly said, grasping his son by the shoulders. "I want you to stay in here while I talk to your Auntie, okay? You stay right here."

Maggie was one step behind him as he strode to the living room. And with one look, saw that Matty had told the truth. Dana sat on the couch, elbows on knees, one shaking hand covering her face, the other gripping the holstered gun so hard her knuckles were white. Maggie couldn't go to her, even though she kept telling herself if was the right thing to do, the supportive, motherly thing to do.

A gun.

A child.

She had pulled a gun on her own nephew.

Bill stood before Dana, hands on his hips. "Did you point your weapon at my son?"

Uncalled for, the image of Matty lying on the floor, life's blood forever staining her Grandmother's Turkish rug, flitted through Maggie's mind. And another, more heard than seen, of Tara's wail and Bill's hopeless cries. Maggie rubbed her mouth to keep herself from screaming.

"Answer me, damnit."

"I- " Dana murmured, glancing everywhere except them. She rose to her feet unsteadily, looking drained and ill.

"Answer me!" Bill shouted.

Movement from the corner of her eye caught Maggie's attention. Tara, Matty tucked behind her, absorbing the scene and keeping a safe distance away. Maggie didn't blame her, she didn't particularly want to be in the room either, but she couldn't leave Bill and Dana alone together. She distantly heard the doorbell ring, yet made no move towards the front door.

"I had a dream - a nightmare - "

"You almost kill my boy because of a goddamned dream? What the hell is _wrong_ with you?"

Yes, God, what's wrong with her? In the kitchen Bill had accused Maggie of defending Dana, and as much as she wanted to defend her now, she couldn't. Because pointing a gun at a child was indefensible. She jumped as Bill roared again.

Dana briefly closed her eyes. "I'm sorry. I can't explain "

The doorbell rang again, and still she ignored it. Tara spoke quietly to Matty and headed towards the foyer. Not knowing wasn't a good enough excuse. Lord in Heaven why had she let their father teach them how to use weapons in the first place? At the time he'd said it was something every boy deserved to know, and God help her, she'd swallowed her reservations and let him do as he wanted, because he was so far away for so many months and God knew the boys had needed their father. And of course the girls had wanted to learn too, and Bill was too much of a softy to say no to them despite her very vocal objections.

And what had it gotten them? Bill had followed in his father's footsteps. Melissa had struck her own irresponsible path. Dana too had forged her own way, paying higher coin than anyone but Maggie realized. Charlie. . .Charlie was lost in the wilds of life, and whether or not he could find his way home was not something she could help him with. She'd done her best, yet it hadn't been enough.

What was worse, what made her a failure as a mother for Dana, was that as hard as she tried, every now and then she still blamed her for Missy's death. In her darkest moments, she wondered if her infertility wasn't God's judgement. A life for a life. Intellectually she knew that it wasn't Dana's fault, and that she would still be standing in her own house at Thanksgiving with only one daughter alive regardless of her children's familiarity with weapons. Yet and yet.

Maggie snapped back into the moment when Tara led Fox into the living room. He must have come straight from the office, for he was still dressed in trenchcoat, dark suit and tie, hardly suitable for the snowy conditions outside. She gave him a weak smile, barely able to be polite with Bill continuing to rant, albeit more softly now. Fox, in the middle of giving her a guarded, polite glance back, stopped just inside the doorway, face turning to stone save for a muscle jumping in his cheek. What? She reviewed what Bill had said.

Oh dear God.

He didn't know.

**Crow** - trickster  
**Neman **- member of The Morrigan, Goddess of War and Battle

_'The Morrigan, Her favorite form was Carrion Crow, settling in triumph on Cuchulainn's shoulders after he was killed in battle, for not only had he refused Her love, but in anger had wounded Her.'_

**~2~**

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Bill repeated dumbly. She stood in front of him, unable to meet his eyes, undoubtedly too ashamed, as she should rightly be.

"I can't explain - "

The urge to strike her was almost more than he could bear. This woman was a stranger, who threatened his precious boy. "Missy's already been taken care of, so who's next? Me? Mom? Tara?"

She looked at him, then. "That's not fair."

"No?" He stepped forward, towering over her. "You don't think that's fair? Oh, please, explain it to me, because I don't get it."

"Bil,l nothing I say is going to make any sense to you. The things I've seen, the things I've done," She shook her head. "I haven't come away unscathed. I never thought - "

"That's the problem, isn't it? You never thought to share your life with us, your family," a faint voice in his head accused him of not making any sense, but in his angry terror he ignored it. Tara passed behind the couch, heading towards the hallway. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw Matty peeping around the corner of the doorway. "Matty, get in the kitchen now!"

Turning back to his sister, he said, "All we've ever done is been here for you, and you treat us like dirt. I can't tell you how many times Mom's called me on the phone, crying as she tells me you're in the hospital, or that she's worried because you've missed yet another dinner date without calling her first. Is your job worth your family?"

Her face paled, leaving two spots of high color on her cheeks. That's right, that's what you've done. Bill clenched his fists when Tara returned, Agent Mulder on her heels. "And you have the gall to tell me I'm not fair? I don't know. I don't know how to get through to you. Maybe if you found a decent man, hell, any man at all, you'd get it. Maybe if you were married, you'd get it. But until you have children, you'll never understand what you've just put us through."

The ticking of the brass clock on the mantle was loud in the thick silence which followed. Bill discovered the truth in the trite cliche - a person's face actually did drain of color when they blanched. At least something he said had gotten through.

She blinked once, twice, staring at nothing he could see.

Without a word she turned, sidled around the couch and slunk towards the foyer. He couldn't let her get away so easily. She really had no idea what she had put them through, but by God she was going to find out.

Bill was only a few steps behind when he was stopped in his tracks by the hand firmly planted against his chest. He looked into Agent Mulder's eyes with a curled lip.

And before he realized what he was doing, he took a step back.

After a long moment Agent Mulder turned and left Bill's sight, the clump of the front door the only indication of where he had gone. Bill swallowed, long shudders going through his body as he recovered from the rush of adrenalin. He drifted towards the bay window to see what Dana was up to.

She was across the street, staring out into the little park which faced the house, wind whipping her copper hair around her head. She wasn't dressed for the weather, in a long-sleeved, hyacinth blue cardigan and black trousers, black shoes. Agent Mulder waited for two cars to pass before stepping out into the street to join her.

Having been in the Navy for the majority of his adult life, Bill was familiar with the many varieties of Man. He recognized the youngster homesick after three months on duty in the middle of nowhere, struggling to keep from vomiting in wild seas; the sailor who preferred life on ship to life at home; the shame of those who'd been caught in compromising positions. Over time he'd learned to trust his gut instinct where officers led and where subordinates followed. Ignorance had become knowledge, fear had become courage, scars bespoke survival. Above all, he perceived the great difference between those who had been in battle and those who had not. He sometimes wished he had the experience of combat, the authority of war command.

He was not so foolish as to think there was no price to pay for it.

He had looked into Agent Mulder's cold hazel eyes, and for the first time, understood that he had made a major miscalculation. His sister's partner wore the gaze of a man who had knowingly taken life,  
and would do it again without hesitation. Death, in its myriad forms, was this man's acquaintance. Agent Mulder was not to be crossed.

Period.

"Bill?"

"Yeah, Mom?"

She stared out of the window, arms folded, the picture of maternity coupled with poise and piety. "You should know that Dana can't have children."

She turned and scrutinized him as if she expected him to apologize, to pity his sister. He didn't think she wanted to hear the truth he had meant every single word, and felt no guilt for what had been said. Her infertility was unfortunate, but not his problem. In fact, considering what she'd just done, it was probably for the best. Their mother snorted and walked away, leaving him to ponder whether or not he could ever allow Matty into his auntie's presence again. He bit his lower lip hard, simmering anger flaring into rage once again as recalled what she had done.

He continued to watch the scene below unfold. Agent Mulder approached, yet kept his distance. Bill shook his head as Dana slowly turned towards him. She was a fool. They spoke, steamy breath streaming away from their mouths in the ever changing breeze. Agent Mulder finally rested one hand on her arm. Damn him for taking advantage.

Bill retreated to the couch when they hugged, forced back the fear and the sorrow and the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same again. He startled as icy fingers touched his neck.

"Is she gone?" Tara asked, sitting down on the arm of the couch, toying with his shirt collar.

"She's outside," he replied, reaching up to pull her into his lap. "Have I told you lately how beautiful you are?"

Her lips twitched, but she didn't smile. He understood, he didn't feel much like smiling either. "Where's Matty?

"Upstairs. I told him we needed some adult time," Tara studied her bitten nails, her expression dangerously still. "Bill, I don't want her around Matty again."

"I know," he would have said more, but heard the front door open and kept his mouth shut instead. Chill air wafted through the room. If she came into the living room without Agent Mulder, there would be no holding back. Tara shifted slightly, stared over his shoulder. The murderous look on her face was frightening in its intensity. He heard footsteps slow, then quicken and fade as Dana went down the hall to the kitchen. The soft, brief murmur of voices, then more single footsteps and the rustle of a jacket being put on. A moment later the front door opened and closed again.

Tara licked her lips and said, "I realize she's your sister - "

"No!" he barked, smoothing her hair down her back, plucking gently at the few coarse silver strands amidst the gold. "No. You and me, Matty and Mom, we make up the family now."

**Munin** - raven of memory, bringing news to Odin  
**Macha** - member of The Morrigan, Goddess of War and Fertility

_'Athena gave Asclepius, the great healer, the blood which flowed from Medusa, and though he used the blood from the left side for the bane of mankind, he used the blood from the right side for salvation, and so was able to raise the dead.'_

**~3~**

He could hear shouting beyond the door. Had it been solid wood, he would only have heard loud, muffled noises, but as it was, the upper half of the door was comprised of delicately etched glass,  
with white lace curtains drawn back on either side. If he leaned a little closer, maybe even put his ear against the pane, he'd probably be able to make out whole words. Which wasn't the polite thing to do when coming to your partner's parent's house for Thanksgiving dinner. Mulder pressed the doorbell button again, wondering if he should have bought a bottle of wine or maybe a gallon of cider or something.  
After years of Scully's badgering, he'd finally agreed to spend a holiday with her family, and he didn't feel all that comfortable with the idea. He was out of practice for family life.

He rarely spoke to his mother, although they had both shoved that ugly incident in Greenwich to the past, yet another thing never to be mentioned. Sometimes he thought he heard wistfulness in her tone, a sad desire for earlier, different times, and in his fantasies, a longing to tell him the complete truth, to let it go for once and all. Shifting from foot to foot, trying to keep a bit of warmth in his toes, he decided to call her when he got home. She was in Palm Springs for the week, but he could leave a message on her machine, ask how she was doing, see if she needed anything done around the house.

Hello, somebody answer the damn doorbell already? Mulder resisted the urge to pound on the door. For a moment he contemplated whipping out his cel and telling Scully to come get him, then he saw someone in the dark recesses of the hallway. Ah, the other Mrs. Scully. Tamara? Theresa? Tara? Tara, that was it.

She stared up at him for a moment, wan November light highlighting the paleness of her face and the emptiness in her eyes. She opened the door, not bothering to wait for him to enter the house before walking away. The shouting had stopped, but Bill's voice was still far louder than normal. He followed the voices, heart sinking as he listened. The meal he strongly suspected he wasn't going to be eating smelled absolutely delicious.

"Is your job worth your family?" Bill wasn't on parade, nonetheless, he certainly held himself as if he were wearing his uniform. A denim-clad, wide-legged stance, ready for choppy seas. A straight back in red-and-white checked flannel. Clenched fists resting firmly on solid hips. More than a glare in Mulder's direction as he walked into the room.

The scene in the living room could have been taken from a soap opera. Scully stood before the sofa, her back to him, while Bill and her mother faced her. Tara walked to the kitchen door, reaching out for a small dark-haired boy wrapped in a green blankie who wasn't succeeding in eavesdropping. Mrs. Scully graced Mulder with an distant yet welcoming glance, her hands clasped too tightly together for comfort. He could smell the rank odor of fear underlying the scent of apple pie and roasting turkey.

Bill continued. "And you have the gall to tell me I'm not fair? I don't know. I don't know how to get through to you. Maybe if you found a decent man, hell, any man at all, you'd get it. Maybe if you were married, you'd get it. But until you have children, you'll never understand what you've just put us through."

Mulder was not Scully's protector. Not in the conventional meaning of the term, at least. However, he would gladly beat her brother to a pulp if she but said the word. And he wouldn't feel a bit of sorrow or guilt. If Bill knew of her infertility, then Mulder hoped he was damned to hell for his cruelty, and if he didn't, then his ignorance was his only saving grace.

She said nothing, though, merely walking around the couch and brushing past him without even acknowledging his presence.

Oh, Scully.

Bill grunted and stormed after her, and would have caught her had Mulder not thrust his hand against his chest. Irresistible force, meet immoveable object.

Bill stepped back a heartbeat later.

Mulder tried to impress upon Bill how bad an idea it would be if he so much as thought of following Scully out front door. Message sent, he left the family to themselves without a hello or goodbye.  
Sugar snow rustled beneath his feet as he took the granite steps, keeping an eye on Scully all the while.

Two rusty red Toyota Corolla s passed by, out of place in the stolid, upper middle class neighborhood. Salty, sandy slush splattered up from the wheel-wells and narrowly missed his trenchcoat. He crossed the street, slowly approaching his partner. She hugged herself tightly, defensive and vulnerable all at the same time.

Standing next to her, he contemplated the park, ignoring the small puddle of vomit freezing in front of his left shoe. He felt around in his pocket, offered her a linty Cinnamon Altoid.

Despite school being out for the holiday, there were no children playing outside. The heavy snowfall, winter s early arrival in Baltimore, was marked with bootprints and more snow angels than he d ever seen in his life, yet the absence of childish glee made the park somber and a somewhat depressing place to be.

"I almost killed him, Mulder. I pulled my gun on Matty and I almost killed him."

She could have been reciting the findings of an autopsy. Her voice was dry, almost emotionless. To a stranger she would have sounded indifferent, with no heart, no feminine sensibilities whatsoever. He turned towards her, reading her beloved profile.

"How could I do that?" she said, shifting slightly closer to him.

A sudden glacial gust blew her hair around her beautiful face, obscuring his view.

"Have I changed so much that I don't even recognize friend from foe?"

What could he say? He had never done such a thing. He could only imagine the horror she must be feeling, the guilt.

Scully finally looked up at him, searching for reassurance in his steady gaze. His heart broke for her. He wanted to kiss blushes into her alabaster skin, bring her joy with the lazy thrust and recoil of his hips, make her forget this day had ever happened. Unable to resist the temptation any more, he tucked a lock of silken strands behind her left ear, let his hand rest on her shoulder. "You're a good woman, Dana."

Her chin trembled, but her eyes were free of tears. Mulder tugged a little, and with a small, tremulous sigh she moved into his embrace. God, she was freezing. Without a jacket, her small frame trembled from the cold and heightened emotion. He rubbed her back, pressing her close to his chest. All too soon she pulled away, facing the house with an expression he d seen at crime scene atrocities, the consummate professional bothered by nothing, able to handle any evil tossed in her path.

"Look at them," she murmured. "watching and waiting. A murder of crows indeed."

Mulder followed her gaze to her mother s house, expecting to see Bill scowling down on them from the bay window in the living room. Instead, a flock of birds lined the roof, staring back at them with equal aplomb. Ravens. The most intelligent of birds. Which were they, he wondered, the tricksters or the creator gods?

Scully took a few steps across the street, turning halfway and walking backwards, saying, "I'm just going to get my things."

He nodded. Gutteral caws came from the roof when Scully entered the house. Was it crows or ravens which had been used in medieval augery? Eh, he didn't care. Didn't want to try and see their opinions on the matter.

Turning away from the house, he leaned one hip against the nearest car, a taupe sedan. The irony was delicious, standing next to an empty park and wishing for the living presence of a little girl who had none of his genes. And he, who usually repressed the faint tick of his biological clock, briefly indulged in the fantasy of a normal life with wife and child. Children. Unfortunate, that the only woman he could trust to raise his offspring couldn't have any herself. C'est la vie.

Bitter thoughts for a bitter day.

Mulder resolutely tamped down the images and waited for Scully.

**~*~fin~*~**

**Note**: _Thanks to Mickey and Shelba for answering my parenting questions, to Chriswife, Jensync, and especially Kel, for beta'ing this story it's far the better for all of your participation._

_The quote at the beginning of part two refers to Bill being the Carrion Crow, not Scully._


End file.
